Snapped Strings and Broken Things
by SpeedofInfinity
Summary: In New York, strange bodies have been turning up with brightly painted faces and strange markings on their wrists. With the unsub rapidly escalating after every kill, seemingly motivated by a childlike fixation on something, can the BAU stop the killer before more people are murdered? Meanwhile, Hotch deals with an unwanted job Strauss leaves him after Prentiss's departure
1. Chapter 1: Stressor

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. At all.**

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Chapter 1: Stressor

Irina Smekhov was admittedly ecstatic…something she hadn't quite felt properly in a long time.

Whistling an ambling tune to herself, she walked through the streets of Brighton Beach, New York, with an extra spring in her step while holding a bag of various groceries. When she finally reached her apartment she shared with her father, she immediately set her groceries upon the kitchen counter and pulled out a cutting board.

Her father had finally agreed to have dinner with her!

For years and years, he had worked tirelessly creating puppets for a toy store he owned. But now that the store closed, he finally had no more excuses to give to her that would justify his chronic absence during her whole life.

Oh, yes. Her father would have so much more time to spend with her. Everything would be okay now.

Of course, her father was having trouble dealing with the loss of his store. So, to cheer him up, tonight, she was making him his favorite dish: braised pheasant with mushroom vareniki.

Humming an old Russian folk song her mother used to sing to her when she was younger, Irina pulled out the dough she had made earlier today for the vareniki from the fridge, and set it upon the counter before working on the filling. Working quickly, she sautéed chopped mushrooms, garlic, and onions together before adding a bit of potato mash to the mix.

After folding the cooked filling into sheets of dough, Irina left them on the counter before breaking down the raw pheasant. With a happy sigh, she brought her blade down upon the meat and stopped to rest for a moment.

She still couldn't believe her father had agreed to eat dinner with her after years and years of refusal, but she hoped today would be the start of a mending relationship between the two of them.

OoOoOo

Mr. Timur Smekhov finally stumbled home after a day of aimlessly wandering around town trying to get his mind off of his closed shop. At least now, he could retire to his room and continue creating those puppets he loved so much.

"Hello, Father! Dinner will be ready in about five minutes. I made your favorite!" Irina said as she excitedly gave him a hug that he half-heartedly and barely returned.

Oh. Her again. He supposed he did technically somehow promise to have dinner with her tonight... "Yes that's…nice. I'll be up in my room until then." Mr. Smekhov said, eager to continue working on his latest puppet.

"Okay…" Irina, shifting her eyes away almost looking…apologetic?

Mr. Smekhov couldn't care any less, so he simply turned around and trudged upstairs to his room, but he felt his body immediately freeze and his breath stolen away as he gazed into his room.

Gone.

Everything was _gone._

Every single scrap of cloth, stuffing, needles, and completed puppets were absolutely _gone_. Oh, he had already barely coped with the loss of his store, but this? THIS? No…this was absolutely unacceptable. His puppets, his _puppets_! The one thing in the world he cared about.

Gone.

And he knew exactly who stole them away from him.

_Irina_…

Rage filled his aging body, but Mr. Smekhov kept it contained at the moment, controlling it with deep breathing. There had to be some explanation for this…this atrocity.

He forced his frozen feet to move as he furiously made his way down to the kitchen. For a moment though, he watched his daughter, the horrendous _thief,_ eagerly set the table, her dark hair dancing around her pale face as she ran in and out of the kitchen trying to make everything perfect. After a moment, she looked up, and smiled at him, beckoning him to come closer.

"It's done. Come and sit with me!" She said.

"Where did you put my puppets?" Mr. Smekhov asked through clenched teeth.

"I…what? _What?" _Irina replied, her smile quickly disappearing from her face.

"My puppets. Where. Are. They." He continued on, stepping closer to the table.

"I don't know what you mean." Irina said, nervously drumming her fingers on the table.

"Don't LIE! I NEED THEM!" Mr. Smekhov bellowed, slamming his fist upon the table. Irina flinched, and took a step backwards.

"I put every single one of them in storage. I…I thought _we _could spend more time together after the shop closed. Maybe you wouldn't need to spend all that time working on them now?" She offered.

"HOW COULD YOU! They were mine…they were _mine_, and you _knew_ that. They were _everything _to me...What type of a daughter are you?" Mr. Smekhov ranted as he glared at the insolent person that cruel fate had deemed his daughter.

"I was the BEST. And you can't even forget about your obsession with those silly toys for a moment and eat with me? We haven't shared a meal together since mother died ten years ago!" Irina dared to say after years of silence.

"Don't…don't bring your mother into this. But, at least tell me where they are so I can come get them." Mr. Smekhov reasoned, calming down at the mention of his deceased wife.

"Never. Can't you spend any time with me? Look…braised pheasant! Mushroom vareniki! I made it for _you._" Irina said, gesturing to the still steaming food upon the table between them.

"Ira," Mr. Smekhov cooed, using his wife's nickname for their daughter. "Please give my puppets and my tools back to me…"

"They're just _toys_, father…Won't you have dinner with me?" Irina bravely coaxed, ignoring the nickname as she stepped near her father. Somehow she believed she could still make this work between the two of them. Somehow, after her twenty-nine years of existence, she believed her father still cared when he clearly did not. Somehow, she still loved him.

Somehow.

What a foolish girl.

"NO!" Mr. Smekhov bellowed, bringing his fist down upon Irina's cheek. Down Irina went with a scream escaping her throat. With his chest heaving up and down after his outburst, Mr. Timur Smekhov turned his back upon his own daughter once more and was left with burning purpose.

He needed to continue making his puppets any way he could…no matter the cost. He was _nothing_ without them.

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**A/N: Right. So I figured it was about time I got back to writing Criminal Minds. I'm quite excited about this Unsub, and yes it's going to be another disturbing story, though definitely not as disturbing as _These Modest Killings. _**


	2. Chapter 2: The Start of It All

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. At all.**

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Chapter 2: The Start of It All

"She keeps _calling_ me, Kath!" Lydia said to her friend. "I mean, it's bad enough mom's divorcing her _sixth_ husband, but _another_ wedding so quickly? I can't."

"I'm not even surprised anymore, to be honest. I think I stopped being amazed at your mom after she announced her fourth wedding…Are you going to her newest wedding?" Katherine replied as the two of them walked down a less-populated street.

"Gah…I don't even know the guy she's supposed to be marrying. How could I? I—" Lydia said before she was interrupted by a loud voice resonating behind them. She turned around and saw an old man hobbling towards them.

"I think we should go…" Lydia whispered, tugging her friend away.

"He looks like he's in pain, though. Should we call an ambulance?" Katherine whispered back.

"Excuse me…I…I think I twisted my ankle, and I need help getting back to my car. Can you girls help me?" The man said as he approached them, wincing as he put a bit too much pressure on his ankle.

"Of course!" Katherine said, rushing to help. Lydia, however, stayed right where she was and eyed the man suspiciously. This didn't feel right…They should have ran away already.

"Kath…are you sure?" Lydia asked her friend who already swung an arm around the man's shoulder to help him walk.

"Yeah. It won't take long. Where was your car, sir?" Katherine nodded.

"Just over there in the alley. Thank you." The man responded, pointing a trembling finger in some direction.

Lydia was about to pull her friend back and leave before her bag started buzzing again. "Fine! Go… My mom's calling again and I can't ignore her for the fifth time…Just meet me back here alright?" Lydia said before grabbing her buzzing phone out of her bag.

Katherine nodded before allowing the man to lean on her as he limped in the direction of his car.

"Wait…how are you going to drive yourself home if you're ankle's all busted?" Katherine asked as she turned to the man.

"Well…I'm sure I'll figure something out…" The man shrugged.

With a roll of her eyes and a swish of her red hair, Lydia turned her and answered her phone call. But after she ended her tiresome call with her mother, Lydia realized she must have been waiting at least fifteen minutes, and she definitely did not like waiting. With a huff, Lydia strode over to where Katherine and the man disappeared.

"Katherine? Are you done already? Where _are _you?" Lydia said, walking around the alley full of parked cars. Peering into every car, she wondered where her friend could have possibly went before she approached a van with its side door open.

Oh.

Katherine's limp body lay sprawled across the back seats of the van, her long, black hair fanned out along the seats. Rushing forwards, Lydia began panicking as she saw her unconscious friend, but relaxed once she found a pulse.

She knew it…

They should have never offered to help…And now, any second, the man was coming back. What if he was a thief? A rapist? Or a…_murderer?_

"We've got to get _out_ of here…" Lydia whispered, looking around as she hoped for a few more minutes before the man came back. Picking up Katherine's arms, she began to drag her out of the van before she heard a low voice.

"Where do you think you're going, my puppets?"

Lydia didn't have to turn around to know it was too late to escape.

OoOoOo

Lydia stirred groggily, and awoke to darkness and a violent ache in her arms. What was _this?_ She was blindfolded? And why were her arms suspended? She tugged her arms down in an effort to release herself from her bonds, but gave up after she heard quite a bit of noise from the other side of wherever she was.

Footsteps pranced around as the sound of metallic clinks and ripping fabric filled the room. Lydia swore she heard odd cackling from the room, but blamed it on the increasing dread she felt.

Now was not the time to panic. There was a way out of here, she was going to find that way, and she was going to get out. Nope. There was no time for panic. But even still, Lydia's body betrayed her mind as she felt her heart race.

But Kath!

Where was Kath?

The clanging noise had stopped from inside wherever they were, and a door slammed shut. For moments, there was only silence.

Taking a chance, Lydia whispered into the dark. "Kath…Are…are you there?"

"Lydia? Oh my God! NO! He got you, too? I don't know where we are!" Katherine frantically whispered back. "What's going to happen to us, Lydia? Is this a joke?" Katherine continued on.

"Joke? It is _so_ not a joke! Just look at us! We were abducted, tied up, and had strange _things_ slathered on our faces! How can you think this is a joke?" Lydia snapped back. But instantly, she regretted saying such things, as Katherine burst into tears somewhere beside her.

"Hey…_hey_…I'm sorry. Don't get upset, please?" Lydia sighed. "Well, whoever's gone is gone for now. Have you found any way of getting out of these dratted shackles?"

"No! I tried, but they just wouldn't come _off_…I think they're metal. Should we call for help while the man's gone? I…I'm sorry for helping him…If we had just left, I'm sure we wouldn't be here…" Katherine tearfully replied.

"Don't apologize…You were just being your normal, caring self. And anyways, we're here not because of you, but because of that _man_. But, yes…Why don't we have a go at screaming for help? I'm sure we'll be fine. Someone will hear, and we'll be out of here in no time…We'll be _fine._" Lydia reassured her friend.

Together, they took turns screaming and yelling for help…for anyone to come…for _any_ bit of hope that there was a way out…

But, no one came.

No police officers surrounded wherever they were with sirens and megaphones.

No FBI agents came storming inside for them.

Instead, _he_ came.

Lydia heard the man come whistling back, clapping his hands as he whispered a ramble of words to himself.

"My puppets, my _puppets!_ Yes! I've never had puppets who moved all by themselves before! This is fantastic!" A voice said.

"LET US GO!" Katherine tearfully screamed.

"I think you'll look lovely in a black dress, my darling…We'll string you up! Just you wait!" The voice gleefully laughed while the sound of clapping filling the room.

"Oh come _on! _Leave her alone!" Lydia screeched. She didn't want her soft-hearted Katherine to endure this.

"I'll come play with you later." The voice promised to Lydia. "Now, you see…This is my knife. _My_ special knife… I use it to make my puppets better. Would you like to feel it?"

"LYD—" Katherine shrieked before the sound immediately died off as a horrible, horrible sound of…blades on flesh echoed through the room.

"Kath? KATHERINE!" Lydia wailed, her breathing increasing as her panic rose.

Was she…dead?

She didn't _deserve_ it!

_Nobody _deserved such a fate.

Lydia heard footsteps approaching her, and futilely tried to move away from the noise, her suspended, hanging hands swinging furiously and uselessly in the air.

She had to get away!

This couldn't be the…end, could it?

As the footsteps began to sound louder and louder, the only thing running through Lydia's mind was just…._why_.

WHY.

Why her? Why Katherine? Why them?

"Time…to make _you_ a puppet now!" A voice excitedly whispered in her ear as something cold and metallic was placed at her throat.

A pleased cackle echoing through the room was the last thing Lydia heard before something tore open her throat.

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**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! For this chapter, I wanted to try another chapter written from the perspective of the victims, something I think I only seriously did once before. Hopefully it turned out all right!**


	3. Chapter 3: Such Beauty

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. At all.**

******WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.**

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Chapter 3: Such Beauty

There was a certain beauty present in the unconscious state. The body relaxes considerably and the countenance remains devoid of any forced wrinkles and frowns. Perhaps unconsciousness, or sleep, for that matter, was a blessing. While unconscious, the mind is able to just be blissfully unaware of the world and its tragedies.

In a way, this applied to death as well.

Lydia and Katherine were most certainly dead, but aside from the streaming blood dripping around them and the gaping slash through their necks, they looked quite peaceful.

They were free.

They were free from the knowledge of what Mr. Smekhov was about to do to their bodies.

Death does that.

It is the end, but, yes…They were _free_.

That, too, was beautiful in a morbidly optimistic way.

But Mr. Smekhov paid no attention to such sentiments. His only thoughts singularly consisted of an awed amazement at the physical beauty of, in his eyes, his _sleeping_ puppets.

There they were…still hanging as their heads rolled back and their limbs limply hanging, suspended in the air.

His puppets!

So _perfect! _

Mr. Smekhov walked around the two of them, admiring every facet of their bodies and every curl and shine of their hair. Ceasing his movement, Mr. Smekhov suddenly stopped in front of the nearest puppet.

With the bold curiosity of a child, he simply poked the torso of his puppet, smiling while he cocked his head, observing the movement as it caused her body to sway back and forth and her black hair to wave around.

After removing his puppets from the strings, a feat that naturally took too long for an old man like him to admit, and lowering them on the cold floor, Mr. Smekhov let out a pleased sigh.

Just look at his wonderful puppets!

Mr. Smekhov knelt as he pulled the closest one to his lap, wheezing slightly from all the effort of lifting them. This one's name was Lydia…

"Look at you…so pretty…don't worry! I'm going to clean you all up!" He cooed to her as the still-warm blood began to stain his clothes.

But then, Mr. Smekhov frowned.

His puppets were wearing more…modern clothes. He usually dressed his puppets in collared dresses or more olden style clothes.

So naturally, this had to change.

But luckily, he remembered he had something in his apartment that he could dress them with, and with a promise to his puppets that he would be back, he exited the place and hurried away to fetch them clothes.

When he finally reached his apartment, he noted it was unusually silent and devoid of those blasted songs his incompetent daughter always hummed. Come to think of it, Irina hadn't even bothered to show her face to him in quite a while.

_Good_.

He had no use for such a inadequate girl for a daughter.

Besides. _She_ was the one who had locked up all his precious puppets and his life's work away from him, he remembered with a snarl. Walking up the stairs to his room, he threw open the doors to his large closet and ripped through pieces of clothing to find an old chest hidden beneath his clothes.

It held the last things he had that were his mother's.

Peering inside, he failed to recall any nostalgic memories he had of her, and instead, opted to victoriously raise several of her old dresses in the air with a wheezy whoop.

Ah, yes. These dresses would look _lovely _on his puppets, and luckily, it seemed as if it would fit them.

Grabbing the dresses, he hobbled out of his home as fast as he could down the busy streets until he reached his puppets once again.

Kneeling down, he grabbed the black-haired one and ripped her clothes off as fast as he could. Propping her body upright on her knee, he clumsily slid a light blue dress patterned with light floral stitching over her dangling arms and her slack neck and zipped her dress up.

Laying her gently back down, he turned gently to the other one, and rapidly stripped her of her clothing as well. After finally slipping her into a faded red dress, he lifted her arms as best as he could and dragged her away to the big room. Panting, he rested a bit before coming back for her friend.

When both of them were both in this large room, he looked around and realized that while he hadn't been here in a long time until now, he still remembered the few times his wife managed to drag him here. Oh, look! They added new harnesses on the stage…

However, these harnesses that dangled from the ceiling were modified and different than what he remembered. _This_ part went around their chest, yes…But, these other ones? They seemed like they went on…their wrists. Yes. That made the most sense.

After fumbling about and finally placing his puppets in their odd harnesses, Mr. Smekhov turned on the old control panel and flipped the switch that controlled the harnesses. Nothing happened at first, so he made his way back to the stage and stared up at his puppets in frustration.

Why wasn't it working?

But suddenly, the old gears started to creakily turn as the engine powered up with a monotone hum. Soon enough, the wires attached to his puppets started to move and the sight of what ensued transfixed him so much that he fell to his knees and stared up in blissful wonder.

There. They. Were.

And what a sight it was! His puppets had come to life as the wires and harnesses he placed them in moved up and down as their limbs dangled and moved as the mechanics of the harness guided their bodies up and down.

It was a lovely sight for him, to finally see his puppets able to move without his aid, and time seemed to slow down for him as all he could see and hear and _feel_ were those dancing puppets, the sounds that their feet would make as they would retouch the floor from time to time, and all the vividly blurry color of their dresses.

So there he remained, transfixed for hours as he contentedly sat and watched his puppets while their fresh blood vigorously splattered him as their bodies mechanically danced a gruesome dance of artificial life and twisted beauty.

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**A/N: Sorry I've been away for so long! College apps have been killing me, and Common App makes me feel quite murderous every time it crashes...But now I've got in my early application over with, hopefully I'll have more time to write!**


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